Kamila’s apartment was out back. He had a spare key.
Marcus opened the door to Kamila’s apartment, his breath spreading short bursts of mist into the chill darkness. The heater must have been off all day.
“Kamila!”
He flipped the light on.
He checked the bathroom and her bedroom and found what he expected. A mess, but nothing that told him where Alyssa and Kamila were.
Marcus tried Kamila's cell phone again, then Alyssa’s. When she didn’t answer, he dialed the home phone, then remembered he was at home. He was running out of plausible explanations. Either someone had taken both of them…or Kamila had done something to Alyssa.
He called again, and this time he left Kamila a message, his voice cracking under a mélange of rage and fear. She had better tell him where she was, bring Alyssa home immediately.
Should he call the police?
Marcus stared down at the recently called numbers list on his phone.
Stormy answered on the second ring. “Couldn’t wait to talk to me, huh?”
She paused. “Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“You sound…scared.”
Marcus paced the narrow path between Kamila’s bed and the television. “They’re not here. Alyssa isn’t here.”
“Well,” she said, then took in a breath, as if to gather the full force of her reassurance, “Maybe they went out.”
“At eleven o’clock at night? Her clothes are missing. They’re both gone.”
“Did you call the police?”
“No,” he said defensively.
She hesitated. “Why not?”
“I’ll do it now.”
Marcus disconnected and called 911.
Chapter 5
Midnight arrived with no news of Alyssa’s whereabouts.
Hours later, an oppressively brilliant sunrise burned away any hope they were coming home.
The police hadn’t helped, casting doubt on Marcus’s suggestion that they do an Amber Alert so “early”. It had only been a few hours, the officer said, and she was with a relative. After the officer left, it had taken several minutes to convince Stormy he would be fine and, despite her concerns, she finally consented and returned home.
It was 8:30am. Marcus pushed his fingers between the blinds and peered through the window, down at Kamila’s apartment. Alyssa’s yellow and white friendship bracelet slid down his wrist. She had warned him. Kamila was acting strange. Worse than normal. And what had he done? Said he would take care of it later. And now they were both gone.
There was a possibility that someone had taken both Alyssa and Kamila, but that didn’t make sense. Alyssa had taken time to pack her clothes. And Kamila’s behavior…
Wondering about what might have happened, wasting time guessing at Kamila’s motives, wasn’t going to bring Alyssa home.
He had to find Alyssa before Kamila had time to do whatever it was she was planning.
Marcus hadn’t done a thorough search of her apartment the night before. He was more hopeful then, believing they would return home during the night, that Kamila would realize her mistake and bring Alyssa home. Marcus let go of the blinds and pulled the apartment’s spare key out of his pocket.
His cell rang.
It was Stormy.
“Hey.”
“Any news?”
“No.”
“Mind if I come over?”
He wasn’t in the mood for company, or distractions.
“Stormy—”
“I’m here. In the driveway.”
She was waiting on the doorstep.
Stormy cleared her throat. “Sorry, I should have called.” She handed him a cup from the espresso shop down the street. “Sixteen ounce mocha, quad shot.”
“Thanks.” He took a sip. She was right, it was exactly the way he liked it. “You didn’t have to drive all the way over here—”
“What’s the plan?”
“I’m headed to her apartment.
“What are we looking for?”
He didn’t expect Stormy to help him look through Kamila’s belongings. It would be quicker to do this on his own, without having to explain everything to someone who’d never met Kamila. But she was already here, and it would be more trouble to convince her to leave.
“Anything that might tell us where she took Alyssa. A journal, receipts, you get the idea.”
“Got it.”
Marcus opened the door, stepped over a pile of clothes, and reached for the switch. Nothing. The bulb had burned out during the night. Stormy opened the shades and a dim light wafted through the apartment’s dusty atmosphere.
“It’s freezing in here,” she said.
Marcus took in the room more carefully than he had the night before. The walls were covered with a handful of family photos, a creased copy of Klimt’s The Kiss held up with tacks, and a tattered scarlet and tangerine Persian carpet that had belonged to Kamila’s—and Anna’s—mother. It was the one heirloom Anna had brought from Chechnya. Stormy picked up a picture frame from Kamila’s computer desk.
“It’s Kamila and her family,” Marcus said.
“What happened to her?”
“Kamila was a teenager when the Russians came to take back Chechnya from the rebels. Her mother and twin sister died.”
“She had a twin?”
“Killed in a Russian missile attack. That left only Kamila and her father, since Anna had moved to America with me. Anna always said the war was what triggered Kamila’s mental problems.”
“Sad.”
“It's no excuse,” Marcus said, taking the picture frame. “We took care of her…let her live in our home…sponsored her even after she refused to stay in school.”
He tossed the frame onto the bed.
“We still don’t know what she’s done,” Stormy said.
“That’s the problem.”
“Well, then, let’s get started,” Stormy said. She rubbed her hands together and surveyed the apartment. “You know, growing up, I always fancied myself a Nancy Drew in the making.
“Nancy Drew?”
“She’s a smart girl who takes down the bad guys. That’s what I loved about her,” she said. “Or, maybe it was that almost every book in the series describes Nancy as having titian hair.”
“Titian?”
“It’s a shade of red, like mine. Anyway, I figured with that much in common, I was bound to be a sleuth. Instead, I ended up in law school.”
“Adolescent detective…environmental attorney. What’s the difference?”
Stormy started with the desk, checking the drawers, behind the computer, on the floor. Marcus searched Kamila’s room. Nothing under the bed. Just clothes in her dresser. He slid open the closet door. A handful of shirts on hangers, not much else. There was a cardboard box on the upper shelf. He hoisted it down and set it on the bed. Mostly school papers. Marcus moved the papers aside and uncovered several prescription bottles. He groaned.
“What is it?” Stormy asked.
He set the box on the floor of the living room. “Her psych meds.”
Marcus held up the bottles. “This prescription was filled three months ago, and it’s still full. Depakote. It’s a mood stabilizer, to prevent manic episodes. And this one, Abilify.”
“What’s that one for?”
“The voices.”
“That means she’s…”
“Potentially very ill,” he said, sliding his fingers up the back of his neck, clenching his hair. “How did I miss this?”
What other signs did he ignore in his attempt to make things work, to make it easier for Kamila—and ease his own conscience?
“Marcus, you have to tell the police.”
“What good is that going to do?”
“Maybe they’ll realize how serious this—”
“Anyway,” Marcus said, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. H
e’d tried the police already, and they didn’t listen. “What did you find out here?”
Stormy glanced at him in such a way as if to say, I’m here to help, but stop acting like a jerk.
“Here…” She held out a small strip of paper.
“A password?”
“It was under the mouse pad.” Stormy switched on the monitor. She put the paper down in front of the computer keyboard, typed in the characters and hit enter. The screen came to life. The wallpaper picture was a grainy photo of Kamila and one of her boyfriends posing in front of Safeco Field before a Mariner’s game.
“You’re a genius.”
“You knew that.” Stormy beamed dramatically and tapped Marcus on the arm with the back of her hand. Her smile melted away. “Sorry, bad time for joking around.”
“Let’s take a look.” He kneeled down next to her. “Try the browser.”
Stormy opened Kamila’s home page. Nothing. “The history,” Marcus said.
She clicked on the history button. “Empty. She’s smarter than you give her credit for.”
Marcus sat back on the floor. They were wasting time. “Anything else?”
Stormy clicked through several folders, pausing to open the few documents she found. “Not much. There is a journal in here. Definitely oozes self-pity.”
Marcus got to his feet and stood behind her. “Does she say anything about taking Alyssa?”
“It’ll take a while to read through it. So far nothing relevant. Lots about how men are creeps. No news there.”
Marcus glanced at Stormy, and she pretended not to notice.
A moment later, she exclaimed, “Yes!”
“What is it?”
“She’s not so smart after all. It’s her instant messenger. The history is all here.” Stormy scrolled to the most recent conversation.
KamGirl206: u know I have to go. Marc kicking me to curb. Anna wuldnt do this to me.
Mujadin77: He’s a ja. Where you going?
KamGirl206: Not w/u, I guess
Mujadin77: You know better.
KamGirl206: yeah, u 2 good 4 a grl like me is that what u think Allah says
Mujadin77: If you want to live long don’t mock God stupid woman.
KamGirl206: who said I want to live long. What do u care? I know ur spineless u do whatever u want.
Mujadin77: Spineless why because I wont go w/you?
KamGirl206: u no u should
Mujadin77: why would I go back to hell
KamGirl206: 4 me but thats no enuf is it gbye
“If she’s been talking to this Mujadin person about leaving she must have been planning this.”
“Maybe she told him.”
“Let’s find out,” Marcus said. “Scoot over a sec.”
Stormy let Marcus have the chair. If he were Kamila, what would he sound on IM? Immature, flirtatious, fiery? He typed.
KamGirl206: Hey, what’s up?
He sat back in the chair and waited. Minutes passed.
“Must not be home,” Stormy said.
This was the closest they’d come to an actual clue to Kamila’s plans. This Mujadin might be the key to finding Alyssa.
“I’m waiting,” Marcus said.
Stormy shrugged her shoulders and began snooping around the apartment again. A few minutes later, they had an answer.
Mujadin77: What the??? Where you been
“Got him,” Marcus said, unsure what to say next. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.
Mujadin77: Call me
“Say you can’t,” Stormy said.
KamGirl206: No…my phone’s dead.
Mujadin77: I been calling you for 2 days. I thought you left.
KamGirl206: Left where?
Mujadin77: Shut up. After all THAT you stay here. Call me.
“After all what?” Stormy said.
Marcus shrugged his shoulders.
“Tell him you missed him too much,” she said.
Marcus looked up at her doubtfully.
“Trust me, it’s what men want to hear.”
KamGirl206: I couldn’t be away from you.
“Good one,” Stormy said.
Mujadin77: LOL. Yeah right. I’m supposed to wait for you no matter what, right?
“I need real info before he figures out who we are,” Marcus said. “I’ve got to be more direct.”
KamGirl206: hey…I got nowhere to stay after today…
Mujadin77: You know you can’t stay here…there’s already five of us…I’d do anything…
KamGirl206: I’m staying somewhere…but I need to have a place, just a little while, to send my mail to…until I find something else.
Mujadin77: You really staying? You dropped the plans…
“What plans, you bastard?” Marcus said. “Tell me what Kamila did with Alyssa.”
“You might want to be a little less direct than that.”
What he wanted to do was get his hands around the man’s neck, throttle him until he told Marcus where the hell Kamila had taken Alyssa.
Marcus took a deep breath, steadied his hands over the keyboard.
KamGirl206: I told you…I’d rather be here, with you…
“Good,” Stormy said.
It took Mujadin77 almost a minute to answer.
Mujadin77: you can send your mail…but temporary…
KamGirl206: Can I come by tonight? Marcus is getting off early…
Mujadin77: You know it…
KamGirl206: See you then ; )
Mujadin77: You sure will…
KamGirl206: Wait….I need the mailing address for your place…I’m such a ditz…
There was another lapse. Marcus could hear the guy’s brain churning.
Mujadin77: u know where I live
KamGirl206: duh I know how to get there but I don’t know the address by heart dummy.
“Please God, don’t let it be a PO box…”
Mujadin77: UR a ditz…. 508 E Portland Ave Apt B254
“Got it!”
Marcus entered the address into Google maps, then printed out the directions and the picture of Kamila and her boyfriend from her desktop.
“We should let the police handle this,” Stormy said.
They were back in the main house. Marcus left her waiting in the kitchen while he went up to his room. He returned with his 9mm Ruger and belt holster. Marcus put a jacket on, covering the weapon. When he looked up, Stormy was staring back at him, incredulous.
“I have a concealed weapon permit,” he said.
“That’s not the point.”
This was why he hadn’t wanted Stormy or the police or anyone else around while he worked on finding Alyssa—they were just going to get in the way, slow things down.
“This Mujadin guy is going to tell me what Kamila’s plans were, whether he wants to or not.” Marcus opened the front door. “I’ll let the police know what we found out—after I talk to him.”
“And if he doesn’t, what are you going to do, shoot him?”
“If I have to.”
“You can’t do this on your own,” Stormy said.
“Alyssa is running out of time. I’m the only person who cares enough about her to actually do something—”
“Wow. Thanks.”
Stormy’s warm, pleading demeanor faded. The cold glare she cast him dropped the temperature in the room by ten degrees. She brushed past Marcus.
He stood in the doorway. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just—thanks for your help. And the coffee. Like I said, you’re a genius.”
Stormy didn’t stop, but called out over her shoulder, “I know when I’m being dismissed.”
She was already at her car. Marcus almost went after her. But he didn’t have time to deal with hurt feelings. It was his life—not Stormy’s—that was upside down right now. He finally had a clue to Alyssa’s location, and he wasn’t going to let Stormy or the police get in his way.
Marcus gripped the steering wheel, maneuvering the tight curves that snaked through the hills between his cliffside suburb and the main highway. Whoever Mujadin77 was, he knew Kamila was leaving. He might even know where she was taking Alyssa. Marcus had to get there before the man figured out it wasn’t Kamila he was talking to on IM.
Once on the interstate, it was a straight shot south to Tacoma. Marcus cut in and out of the carpool lanes and reached the exit in twenty minutes. He glanced at the Google map printout and made his way up Portland Avenue toward the apartment complex.
Marcus was just two blocks away when he heard the state trooper’s siren. He checked his rearview mirror, mumbling an expletive. The nearest spot to pull over was the entrance to the apartments.
Marcus handed over his license and insurance papers.
“I assume you know—”
“I was speeding, yes. Just get me the ticket.”
The officer bent down, his face so close Marcus could count the hairs between his eyebrows. “What’s your hurry?”
“I have someone to meet.”
“That gives you a right to risk the lives of other drivers?”
Marcus didn’t answer. It was better to keep his mouth shut, get this over with so he could get to Mujadin.
“Do you know how fast you were going?”
“I’ll drive slower, promise.” It sounded patronizing. Marcus didn’t care.
The officer offered Marcus a scowl, an unambiguous final warning. “I’ll be back.”
Dark Sky Falling Page 2
